The Hag's Contract

Fourteen

More snow had fallen in the Drachenaur Mountains than in Grabentod, Parniel Bowspear found as he led his men up the Warde Pass. He had to keep an eye on the ground at all times to avoid slipping.

The mountains rose to either side of them, steep and rocky, with only the occasional gnarled, leafless tree or tuft of grayish grass to break the otherwise barren landscape. Though only an inch or so of snow lay on the ground here, it spoke of trouble to come if a larger storm hit. Bowspear glanced for the dozenth time at the sky, as clear and blue and cloudless as he’d ever seen, but he’d experienced quite enough storms at sea not to trust the weather to hold.

Pausing, he sucked in a deep lungful of air. His breath misted before him, forming ice crystals that he had to keep brushing out of his beard. The thin, cold air felt like knives when be breathed through his nose.

Now came the dangerous part. They would have to prepare an ambush for Captain Evann while staying warm and dry and eluding the Hag, not to mention the other denizens of this inhospitable realm. Unfortunately, the Warde Pass seemed increasingly a bad choice for their ambush; it offered no place to hide, and little cover.

No, he thought, we will have to keep going. Perhaps we will find a suitable place when we turn off into the smaller pass to that old abandoned logging camp—Zwei Frieren Flusse.

He glanced over his shoulder. His men had strung out into a long line, perhaps ten yards between each one. He had taken the lead that morning, setting a swift pace, but they had all managed to keep up without incident. Unfortunately, with fresh snow on the ground, they left ample tracks, but he could do nothing about it now. Perhaps Evann would think orogs or goblins had passed through ahead of him.

The path opened up onto a broad ledge. They would all be able to rest here. Raising one hand, he signaled a halt. Everyone caught up and formed a circle around him.

“We’re going to have to move more carefully,” he said, looking each in the eye. “We’re on the edge of the Hag’s Domain now.”

Their faces remained impassive. Good; they weren’t intimidated. He’d picked them well.

“Yuri,” he went on, “you’re on scout duty. See what’s ahead. We’ll follow about a hundred yards back. Don’t shout a warning—signal it. No telling what might hear you here, and we don’t want to start an avalanche from above.”

“Aye, sir,” Yuri said. He glanced up the slopes toward the ice and snow far above, as if expecting it to suddenly fall on him, then turned and headed up the pass. It wound sharply to the right and vanished behind the mountain.

Counting slowly to a hundred, Bowspear watched him go. When he was certain Yuri was far enough ahead, he started after him.

“Stay close behind me,” he cautioned the others.

It would take them at least two days to get through to the smaller pass to Zwei Frieren Flusse, he knew. He’d heard of a few small caves that travelers used for shelters along the way. They’d look for one tonight.

As the day wore on and he trudged ever onward through the cold, Bowspear found his thoughts wandering to what might lie ahead of them in the pass. There were many possible dangers here. Though orogs and goblins were almost never seen in Grabentod, folk stories told of them teeming in the mountains, sometimes sneaking down by night to kidnap unsuspecting children.

He had never been this far into the mountains before. Several times, he had accompanied King Graben to his hunting lodge on Mount Krakenwald, but the only dangers in that part of the Drachenaur Mountains came from wildlife, avalanches, and occasional forest fires. Here, though … here he half expected to find monsters lurking around every bush or bend.

He almost wished he’d stayed in Grabentod. What chance could Captain Evann possibly have of success here, against the elements, the creatures who lived in the mountains, and the Hag herself? Here, facing the mountains, he felt an almost oppressive sense of impending disaster.

Yuri came jogging back, half slipping on the snow and patches of ice. Drawing up short, Bowspear waited, hand dropping to his sword. His scout didn’t seem upset or alarmed by anything, probably just coming back to give a routine report.

“What is it?” he asked.

Yuri panted a moment, hands on knees, catching his breath. “Sir,” he said, “we’re coming up on the pass to Zwei Frieren Flusse.”

“Any sign of a lodge or a camp where we can spend the night?”

“No, sir,” he said.

Bowspear nodded. “Very well. We’ll see how far we can make it before nightfall.”

Yuri gave a nod, turned, and headed back up the pass. Bowspear resumed his slow march.

As the party rounded the right side of another immense mountain, Bowspear abruptly found himself on a wide stone ledge. A low, moaning wind came up, numbing his fingers and making his eyes sting. To the left, a steep cliff dropped away several hundred feet into a deep gorge. A dark, stagnant-looking lake, half iced over, sat at the bottom.

Keeping as close to the mountain as he could, Bowspear pressed on, every now and again catching sight of Yuri far ahead. The rock underfoot felt icy and slick beneath the snow, and Bowspear almost fell several times.

Suddenly he rounded a corner and came to where the pass split. One trail—broader than the first—continued to the left toward Drachenward. The other, smaller pass climbed steeply and wound out of sight. It looked little better than a goat trail. It had to be the one to Zwei Frieren Flusse and the Hag’s Domain.

Standing at the top of the smaller pass, Yuri turned and waved them on, and then he vanished out of sight, following the trail downward.

Tucking his head into the wind, Bowspear picked his way forward. He climbed the smaller pass, using his hands to pull himself up. A stone twisted unexpectedly under his heel, but he managed to catch his balance before he fell. If he broke his leg, he’d be stranded and die.

At last, he reached the top of the pass. There he paused to catch his breath, get his bearings, and give the rest of his men a hand up. Ahead, the smaller pass leveled out again and turned into what appeared to be a long-abandoned road. An avalanche must have blocked the road some years before, and he and his band had just climbed to the top of the fallen rock and debris.

From this vantage point, shading his eyes, Bowspear could follow the road’s course for several miles ahead. In places, it had been obliterated entirely by passing centuries, but then it picked up again. Looking down on it from above, the road looked like a long gray stone ribbon.

It would make their passage easier, he thought, but it might well be watched. Bowspear considered the possibilities for a long moment before deciding to press on as before. There didn’t seem to be much alternative. With Yuri scouting ahead, at least they would have warning of any dangers.

Bowspear picked his way down to where the road began. By the time he reached the bottom, he found Yuri scrambling back, an alarmed expression on his face.

“What is it?” he demanded in a soft voice.

“Goblins,” Yuri said. “Two of them, sitting in the mouth of a cave. They’re guards, I think.”

Slowly, Bowspear nodded. It made sense. Goblins wouldn’t want humans invading their territory any more than humans wanted them invading Grabentod. He glanced up the pass, then back the way they’d come. There didn’t seem to be much choice, he thought. They’d have to go up the side of the mountain, work their way above the goblins; then descend to the road on the other side. If they kept to cover and didn’t start any rock slides, he thought they’d be able to make it in an hour or two. That wouldn’t leave much time before dark, but perhaps it would get them to safety.

He told Yuri his plan. “See if it’s passable over there,” he said, pointing up over the goblins’ cave.

Yuri gave a quick nod and began scrambling up the steep slope. Ice and shale skittered out from under his boots, but the noise vanished in the wind. A hundred fifty feet up, Yuri found a ledge where he could stand. He scouted ahead a bit, then returned and motioned everyone to follow him.

Bowspear climbed after him. One by one, the rest of his men followed. At last, exhausted, he pulled himself up onto the ledge. It was perhaps three feet wide here and seemed to run a good way ahead. This might be just what they needed to get around the goblin sentries. Unfortunately, they had less than an hour of sunlight left. They weren’t going to make it through the pass tonight.

“Nakkar,” he said, pulling the next men up, “I want you to go carefully, but catch up with Yuri. Tell him to start looking for a place we can camp tonight. We’re not going to make it out of here by dark.”

“Sir!” Nakkar gave him a quick salute, then stalked cautiously down the ledge toward where Yuri stood.

Bowspear helped the next man up onto the ledge, keeping an eye on Yuri and Nakkar as they talked. He wished he could hear what they were saying, but the rising wind swept their words away.

At last Yuri turned toward Bowspear, pointed down and a little to the left, and pantomimed an opening. Another cave? Or just an alcove where they might shelter for the night? After a moment’s hesitation, Bowspear motioned for him to check it out.

He pulled the last of his men up. Gratefully, he rested with the others, all sitting on their haunches and puffing.

Bowspear turned and gazed expectantly toward the last place he’d seen Yuri. His scout had vanished. Leaning out over the ledge, Nakkar peered down at something … probably the cave, Bowspear thought.

Suddenly an inhuman scream cut through the air. Bowspear jumped, startled, and then turned and raced down the ledge. Nakkar was shouting and pointing, but Bowspear couldn’t make out the words. Something about a fight?

Not more goblins, Bowspear prayed.

“What is it?” he demanded as he reached Nakkar’s side.

Nakkar swallowed nervously. “Something grabbed Yuri and pulled him in!”

“Something?” Bowspear demanded. “What kind of something? A goblin? An orog?”

“I—I don’t know! Whatever it was, it was huge!”

Bowspear leaned out to see for himself. Twenty feet below, he spotted the tall, narrow cave Yuri had been investigating. As he watched, Yuri’s head rolled out of the cave, bounced several times down the mountainside, and vanished from sight below.

Bowspear felt sick. Yuri had been with him nearly five years now, and he’d never had a more loyal follower. What could have beheaded him? Goblins?

No, not goblins, he realized a moment later. A huge, hairy creature three times as tall as a man pulled itself out from the cave’s mouth. It held the trunk of a small tree in one hand as a club. Slowly it scanned the slope below its cave. Then it turned, saw Bowspear and Nakkar, and with a roar of anger started climbing toward them.

“Crossbows!” Bowspear shouted to his men, drawing his sword. Turning, he fled back along the ledge.

Nakkar was scrambling farther up the side of the mountain, a horrified, panicked expression on his face. The creature—a rock troll, Bowspear guessed, though he’d never seen one before— rapidly closed the distance between them. It was making a low animal grunting noise deep in its throat.

Nakkar wasn’t going to make it.

“Draw your sword!” Bowspear shouted into the wind. “It’s almost on you!”

Nakkar glanced down and saw the troll. Abruptly, he dived to the left, rolling down the mountain and across the shale. Loose stones cascaded down the slope, and then Nakkar landed on the ledge, bounced, and started to slide off. He just managed to grab the edge, where he clung desperately.

Giving another roar, the troll began climbing back down to the ledge.

Bowspear reached his men and saw they had their crossbows ready. They’d been waiting for Nakkar and him to get clear.

“Fire!” Bowspear shouted, diving forward and flattening himself on the ledge.

Bolts flew over him. Two missed the troll’s head narrowly, and it swung around, swatting at them as if they were insects. The third struck it in the arm, and the fourth hit it a glancing blow to the neck.

Enraged, it lifted its tree-club over its head. In one movement, it threw the log at Bowspear and his men. Luckily the club dropped a few yards short, skidded off the ledge, and fell, rolling down the mountain.

“Reload and fire at will!” Bowspear shouted.

His men were already doing that. Two more bolts flew, both catching the troll in the chest. It stood erect, clawing at its chest, making a futile pained sobbing sound. Another bolt hit it, this one glancing off its right temple. A spatter of blood flew, and the creature toppled backward. It slid off the ledge and vanished from sight.

Bowspear found his legs weak. He wanted to sit down and catch a second wind, but knew he had to do something about Nakkar. The man still clung to the ledge.

Though weak in the knees, Bowspear forced himself back onto his feet, hurried forward, and grabbed Nakkar’s arm. Slowly he hauled him up to safety. Nakkar lay still, gasping for air like a fish out of water. Cuts and bruises covered his face, hands, and arms.

Bowspear opened his pack, rummaged through it to find the flask of brandy he’d brought, and put it to Nakkar’s lips. The man took a few gulps, and that seemed to steady his nerves. He sat up and gave a weak grin. “I made it, sir.”

“Poor Yuri,” Bowspear murmured. He’d thought there might be casualties, but he’d never suspected they would come so soon. Yuri was a good man, leaving behind a young widow.

He shrugged on his pack again. With darkness almost upon them, they still had to get under cover. At least they’d have a place to spend the night, thanks to Yuri. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too foul.

“Let’s get moving,” he said. “We still have to lay poor Yuri to rest.”

It took them half an hour to make it safely down to the opening of the cave. Bowspear insisted on slow, careful progress. If the troll they’d killed had a mate, he didn’t want to lose any more men to her.

By the time they reached the cave’s mouth, the sun had begun to disappear behind the peaks.

Bowspear paused, listening over the moan of the wind, but heard nothing from within. Cautiously, he stepped inside.

The smell hit him first, a deep musky stench of excrement and rotting meat. Truly, the troll’s cave was the most ghastly place he had ever been before. The floor was covered with half-gnawed bones, and a few of them still had flesh attached. They had to be from goblins, he thought, noting how thick they were.

The troll had evidently made this his lair for many years. Rocks had been piled in the front opening, closing it up to what must have been a narrow passage for the troll, though two men could have passed through it shoulder to shoulder.

“There’s Yuri,” Nakkar said softly, pointing to one corner.

Bowspear squinted and could just make out a headless form there, tossed aside like a child’s doll, a broken, lifeless heap. Swallowing, covering his nose against the stench, he moved forward, grabbed Yuri’s arm, and began to drag him to the ledge. He didn’t deserve to be left in here, forgotten amid the countless bones of goblins, Bowspear thought. They’d build a stone cairn for him on the ledge outside.

After a second’s hesitation, the others moved to help. It was the least they could do for their friend.

As he stepped out of the troll’s cave, though, a guttural voice called, “Hold there!” and he felt the sharp tip of a spear thrust up against his spine.